


My Fallen Angel

by Venus_Persephone



Series: The Ryan Kuhn Saga - The Legacy of a Hell's Winter [2]
Category: Thir13en Ghosts (2001)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Body Horror, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Forced Abortion, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Tragic Romance, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27574877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venus_Persephone/pseuds/Venus_Persephone
Summary: Welcome to Part 2 of the Ryan Kuhn Saga.A telling of Ryan's life before he commits himself to Borehamwood Asylum, the woman he loved and the events that led to his 'life choices'... Original huh?No seriously, full of tragedy, angst and rated M because it's Ryan and contains obvious Ryan-esque stuff.As always, reviews are welcome.
Relationships: The Jackal | Ryan Kuhn/Original Character(s)
Series: The Ryan Kuhn Saga - The Legacy of a Hell's Winter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015599
Kudos: 2





	1. I Have An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> After about a years worth of debate, I've finally given in an uploaded the first chapter of what might well be the soppiest, but saddest thing I may ever have written.

1894  
  
She had seen him a few times, often he would be playing in the street with a few other unfortunate children but this time he was alone, throwing stones against a wall in the small alley.  
_Poor thing,_ she thought as she walked by with her school books. She wondered why she never saw him in school; perhaps his mother could not afford his education.  
She stopped now to watch him play his game. Daddy had warned her not to play with the feral children, especially 'hooker's spawn' as he called them although she had no idea what that meant; to her the young boy was just another child like herself.  
She looked back down the street in the direction of her house. Daddy would wonder where she was if she wasn't home soon and she bit her lip in worry. The young boy had not noticed her yet, too interested in his game, trying to throw the stones he'd found into a circle he'd drawn in the dirt. _Like marbles,_ she thought excitedly and reached for her satchel, she pulled out a silken bag which was full of the glass balls Daddy had given her as a birthday present last year.  
Daddy wouldn't mind if she was a little late, surely? So she walked towards the boy with his dirty shirt and shoulder length black hair.  
"Hello?" she said.  
He jumped, he hadn't realised anyone was there, "What do you want?"  
She was taken aback by his defensive response it was almost as if he expected her to hit him or something, "Nothing," she replied honestly, "My name's Charlotte, I've seen you a few times, what's your name, boy?" she asked. It was not meant indignantly, it was just how the nine year old girl had heard her father talk to young street urchins.  
He looked at her, noticing her blue school uniform for the first time. He remembered her, he'd seen her a few times walking to and from school with her dark brown hair tied in a neat French-plait. She looked posh; his mother had told him to keep away from their kind for they would 'look down their noses at you', what that actually meant though he wasn't sure.  
"My name's Ryan," he did not let his guard down and just looked at her with piercing grey, blue eyes.  
Charlotte looked at the ground where he'd been playing and then asked, "Wouldn't you rather play with marbles instead of stones?"  
It seemed like a reasonable question to her, just as his response seemed reasonable to him, "I don't have any marbles, my mother can't afford toys,"  
This didn't seem at all right to Charlotte, she only lived a few minutes from him and suddenly it seemed that they lived two very different lives. That couldn't be fair, surely?  
Charlotte tipped her silk bag up and a small selection of the colourful glass spheres fell into her palm and she extended them to the raggedy boy, "Would you like to play marbles with me?" she asked politely.  
Ryan looked at her hand which held the pretty glass, all the colours of the rainbow and more. He looked back at her, "Really? You want me to play with you?"  
"Why yes, you silly boy, I wouldn't ask you otherwise," she giggled.  
Ryan cautiously extended his hand to the young girl and she placed her marbles into his palm.  
They smiled at each other as children do and began playing their game.  
  
They were not sure how much time had passed but they both knew that they'd enjoyed it. Ryan had knocked five of Charlotte's marbles out of dirt ring, he was certainly very skilled at this despite his insistence that he'd never played with real marbles in his life. They laughed together and shared jokes. It was a friendly atmosphere and neither mentioned anything about the others social standing, being children they were unknowing of such things.  
Charlotte suddenly noticed that the night was drawing in, "Oh no!" she cried.  
"What's wrong?"  
"It's late! Daddy will be worried."  
Ryan looked concerned, "Will he beat you for it?"  
She looked at him genuinely stunned that he had asked such a question, "No! Why would Daddy beat me?"  
It had never occurred to Ryan that not all parents were like his mother. _Oh shit! Mother!_ He himself now turned and looked down the dark alley, she would be awake soon, if not now and she would come looking for him.  
"You should go," he said.  
She nodded in agreement, although she did not know that Ryan was more concerned about her being alone in this part of town, it wasn't recommended for anyone especially young girls.  
"Will I see you tomorrow, Ryan?"  
He hadn't expected that, "If you want,"  
"Good, we can play after school again," she smiled and gathered up her marbles and began placing them back in the silk bag. Then she stopped and looked at Ryan, who suddenly looked quite alone, his head was down, his messy hair covering his face, hands in his pockets, kicking the ground.  
"Ryan?" she asked, he turned to face her, "Have these," she gave him a handful of her marbles, the prettier ones that he had admired so.  
"But… I can't take these, Charlotte. They're yours,"  
"Yes, and I chose to give them to you."  
For a brief moment a flicker of warmth was shared between them and they smiled at one another knowing that they were friends now.  
"Ryan! Ryan!" A shrill woman's voice cried from down the alley. Ryan shuddered at the voice and immediately turned in the direction it sounded from, "Where are you, you worthless little shit?"  
Charlotte gasped; she had never heard such language before.  
"I… I have to go now; that's my mother…" His whole demeanour changed at hearing her call him and Charlotte simply thought it best not to ask questions.  
"I'll meet you here tomorrow," she promised.  
Ryan was glad she said this; he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd suddenly changed her mind about seeing him again after this incident.  
Charlotte quickly grabbed her satchel, waved goodbye to her new friend and hurried home and so did Ryan.  
  
When she reached her front door her father was indeed waiting for her with a very stern look on his face.  
"And where have you been miss?" he asked.  
She quickly apologised for her lateness, explaining that she had been playing marbles with her new friend Ryan.  
Mr Hargreaves took this in; so his little girl had befriended a young boy. Nothing wrong in that he supposed, it was time for her to discover young love as they called it anyway. This Ryan was undoubtedly a fellow student at the school he assumed, so would be of good social standing, nothing wrong in that at all.  
  
Ryan did not get far down the alley before he met his mother; her hair was a dishevelled mess along with the filthy dress she always wore. She was holding a cigarette in her nicotine stained fingers and her eyes were glazed. She scowled at him, "Where the bloody Hell were you? And who was that little cow you were with?"  
Oh God, he'd hoped that she hadn't seen them together, "N… no one…" the ten year old boy stammered, "She's j… just a friend."  
"A friend?" she spat, "You don't have any friends you little liar," she clipped him round the back of his head sharply, "Get to your room and stay there you little shit. You won't be fed tonight for lying to me."  
He did not have the courage to try and explain so he simply did as she'd ordered. Once in bed he covered himself in the thin sheet and tucked his legs up to his chin. He was starving, she hadn't fed him last night either saying that she'd needed it more, to keep her strength up while she was 'working'.  
He reached into his pocket and took out the marbles Charlotte had given him; luckily his mother had not noticed that. He held them tightly in his clenched hands and prayed, "Dear God, thank you so much for sending me an angel, please let Charlotte come and see me again tomorrow."

***  
  
Charlotte did come back the next day, and the day after that and continued to see him every day after school.  
When the days started to become shorter, Ryan gained the confidence to go to the school gates to meet her.  
He was often shooed away by dismissive teachers, stern looking females with pointy noses, grey dress suits and greying hair tied in a high bun, the type of women one would stereotype as spinsters. He imagined that witches must've looked like such grey women.  
He was taunted by the departing children as they left, both boys and girls. The boys he could cope with, posh boys were no threat, they had no real experience in fighting unlike him, but the girls were different; school girls, nasty, spiteful creatures with their wicked tongues, giggling mocking smiles, they were simply mean, without reason, worse even than others he'd known because they looked down on him. Ryan however surprised himself by staying until Charlotte came.  
Her smile brightened up his day despite anything that had occurred previously. He loved seeing her smile when she saw him and call his name with such joy.  
Every now and then she would have something for him, be it a new marble to add to his collection or a cupcake that she had not eaten at school, Ryan soon discovered that he was rather fond of cakes and sweet things. He felt insecure though for he had nothing to offer Charlotte in return for her generosity. He wished there was something he could give her, maybe when he was older he would be able to.

***  
  
It was coming up for Christmas now and this worried Ryan. Christmas was never a good time for him; it usually meant that his mother's usual clients were at home with their wives and families. The only business around at Christmas were of a much rougher clientele, the kind who would more often than not be blind drunk from the festivities, these men would often walk out without paying his mother for her services and beat her in the process, if Ryan ever got in the way he too would receive a hiding. No, Christmas was not a time of jollity in his household, but what made it more unbearable was the thought of the school holidays. Charlotte would undoubtedly be home during the festive season and he would be unlikely to see her in this dark time… Perhaps she would forget about him.  
  
But this was far from the truth; in the midst of winter when the first snow began to fall, Charlotte and her father walked through London looking in the windows of toyshops. Both were wrapped in scarves and hats as they joyfully strolled the streets lit by lamplight and the sounds of carol singers around them.  
It was a magical experience and Charlotte did so enjoy spending Christmas with her father who would often spoil her.  
James Hargreaves held him daughter's hand tightly and led the way; he was a tall man of sturdy build, a man very much of his generation, a veteran of the Boer War. He walked with a cane more for show than support although he had been wounded in combat; he displayed a mighty moustache tinged with grey.  
He knelt down to his daughter's level, "Is there anything special you'd like Father Christmas to bring you, Lottie?" That was his pet name for her; it was her grandmother's name although Charlotte had never been particularly fond of the nickname he and many others bestowed on her.  
She thought carefully about the decision, it had crossed her mind perhaps to ask for a new rocking horse this year since the last one had suffered a most tragic accident falling down the stairs.  
Then she saw something that caught her eye and she bounded over to window that glowed brightly from the shop lighting inside. It was beautifully crafted from a dark wood and several woodland animals such as deer and rabbits had been carved by hand along the curved front parts. She turned back to her father with a delighted expression, "Daddy? Can I have that?"  
He came over and looked at the sled she had spotted, "That's not really a toy for an only child," he said softly trying not to shatter her delight.  
"I know that Daddy!" she said, "Ryan and I can play on it together. Then it'll be a present for him too."  
Mr Hargreaves was surprised but proud of his daughter, what a good girl she was thinking of others like that at Christmas. He just hoped that this Ryan she'd become so fond of would not receive his own sled from his parents this Christmas.  
  
It was Christmas Day. Ryan stood at the end of the alley; he was shivering for he'd been waiting there all day hoping that Charlotte would be out today, he hadn't seen her for a week. He hugged himself to keep warm; he didn't own a coat or any other weather appropriate clothing. His teeth were chattering, his lips turning slightly blue, his black hair was white from the flakes of snow as were his eyelashes and eyebrows, but he was determined to stay right there just in case she came today.  
He was struck suddenly from behind on his head. He turned and saw his mother standing there wrapped in her shawl, "Still here are you?" He nodded and continued looking down the street, "Pathetic," she muttered, she tugged the fabric of her shawl around her tighter barely noticing how her son shivered. She was getting ready to leave for work and he hoped she would go soon, he didn't want to speak to her not after what had happened the night before... His ribs still ached painfully, "Now, you little bastard, don't you dare stay out here all night or I'll tan your hide in the morning."  
He could only guess that if he froze to death over night it would reflect badly on her, perhaps he should just stay out to spite her, _It'll be her own damn fault if I'm dead in the morning,_ he thought as she strolled away.  
He shook his head and a torrent of snow fell from his dark, wet locks.  
Big Ben struck five times in the distance and the night was creeping in closer. He began to give up hope.  
"Ryan!" A small voice called from down the street. He looked up excitedly and saw the only thing he'd wanted to see for days. He ran to meet her, nearly falling in the snow several times.  
She dragged the sled behind her, she was well wrapped up in several layers after finally convincing her father to let her out on Christmas Day, but as soon as she saw Ryan she noticed his lack of winter clothing.  
"Where's your coat? It's freezing out here!"  
Ryan shook his head again throwing snowflakes everywhere, "D...d... don't... h...have...one..." he stammered through chattering teeth.  
"Well this won't do, you'll get frostbite."  
"W...what's...f...fr...frostbite?"  
She suddenly felt very silly, "I don't know," she confessed to him, "Daddy just tells me I'll get it if I don't wear a coat outside. But I'm not going to let you get it," She started taking her gloves off, her scarf followed and then her coat and handed them to him. He was too cold to argue with her and took them; he simply smiled thankfully when he saw that she was wearing hefty looking jumper as well. Then he saw the sled behind her.  
"Is that yours?" He asked as he admired it, getting on his knees to look closer at the woodwork.  
"No, it's _ours_." She handed him the reigns, but he couldn't comprehend what she was saying.  
"Excuse me?"  
"It's from Father Christmas to both of us, so we can play together."  
He laughed. His mother had always told him that he was a horrible child and that's why he didn't deserve presents at Christmas. He was so happy, he could've cried, could've picked up the girl before him and spun her around in his arms. Instead he looked at her with a wide smile and beaming eyes, "I don't need presents," he took hold of her hand and held it tight and they started walking together dragging the sled, "I have an angel."


	2. Under The Ash And The Lies

1898

It should’ve been a nice day, it should’ve been a day to enjoy the outdoors, to play with friends, a day to laugh and smile. But today would not be that sort of day, although Ryan did smile.  
It shouldn’t have surprised him that no one else showed up for his mother’s funeral, but he’d at least expected one of her ‘friends’ as she called them to attend.  
Ryan knew it would happen one day. That his mother just wouldn’t come home one evening and that would be that. The policemen had come to his house in the hope of finding someone who would be able to identify the body but all they found was the raggedy little boy hiding under the table where his mother had told him to go whenever the police came in the past. The officers had no choice but to ask the child who was no older than twelve to accompany them to the local mortuary.  
He hadn’t even flinched when the sheet was removed; her face was a broken, bloody mess barely even recognisable, but he knew her, not even the mutilation of her features was enough to make him mistake her. He hated this woman too much, had wished her dead too many times, had dreamt of this moment for too long for him to make such an error. He nodded to confirm her identity, but no one had seen how he’d smiled.

The minster stood at the head of the open grave with its burden already in tow. He kept his eye on the single mourner who hung his young head, eyes staring right down into the grave.  
“Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sister departed, and we commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself.”  
Ryan smirked, the very idea of Jesus Christ accepting his mother with open arms was laughable, or any woman come to think of it… Except Charlotte of course, she was the exception in his eyes to all of the female gender.  
He’d known women, he’d seen what they were capable of, the lies, the deceit; he remembered little of his early years for they were spent being passed from one whore to another.  
He was doted upon at first, perhaps even thought of as a novelty when he was ‘knee high to a grasshopper’ as they’d said, often having his cheeks pinched much too hard he thought by the elderly prostitutes, many of whom had little or no teeth.  
His mother took him with her when he was still young, he could be used; and not just by her... She would beg passersby, asking them to take pity on a single mother and young child with no food; the foolish charitable folks opened their hearts and their purses willingly for the woman with a crying baby in her arms. Others, mainly the gentlemen, simply sought something else from her and when she accepted the offer, another whore would take him, and she too would use him as tool and pass him on again to another whore and so the cycle began again.  
It was not until his eighth year that he finally discovered what mother did for a living. He had been playing outside, having been shooed away rudely by mother as a gentleman had arrived, but the rain had begun to fall very suddenly and rather heavily so he’d run back to their small accommodation within the known prostitutes’ district. He’d struggled with the door knob with cold, wet fingers before it finally turned for him and allowed him access. He was met by an unpleasant sound, moaning, heavy breathing, coming from mother’s bedroom, painful gasps and a man’s growls. What was he doing to her? Was he hurting her? Was he trying to kill her? His bottom lip trembled as he edged to her bedroom door, extending his small hand towards it, he pushed it open gently but the door creaked at an unnecessarily loud volume. Ryan’s young eyes fixed on the scene that he’d wished every day since that he could erase from his memory.  
But the worst thing about women, all women he had known spare one, was the way they treated all others including their fellow street workers, and their children… or the children that were never to be. He had seen such horrors at their hands, had witnessed countless occurrences of the local ‘doctor’ as they called him paying a visit with his case of tools, those unfortunate women who would pay handsomely to have this man tear them apart internally to remove the unlucky unborn foetus’ from their now mutilated wombs. Those that survived such a procedure were few and left very much barren afterwards. It had baffled the young boy why his mother had not thought to do the same thing while she was carrying him.  
He hated them all, even now, they were a pestilence and his life was better off without them.

The minister finished and closed his bible.  
“Can I go now?” Ryan asked innocently.  
It was terribly upsetting for the minister to see this young boy all on his own on the day of his mother’s funeral, no father to speak of and now no home to go either. He walked over and placed a kind hand on the boy’s shoulder, “My child, where do you intend to go now?”  
Ryan shrugged, he hadn’t thought about it too much, “I suppose I’ll be heading to the orphanage,” he said dryly, “If not there then I could go to the workhouse. Mother always said I’d end up in one of those places eventually. That or jail, she’d said.”  
The minister sighed, what an unfortunate upbringing the poor child must’ve had to know such things.  
He felt he had to do something for this young boy, he’d seen too many children who shared a similar lifestyle become criminals and addicts after spending those formative years in the workhouse.  
“Have you eaten at all?” He asked kindly.  
Ryan looked up with his piercing grey eyes which hadn’t left his mother’s grave, they were full of hate and loathing but surprisingly his demeanour was calm and well mannered, “No, sir”  
The minister smiled.

Inside the rectory they ate a simple meal but it was more than Ryan was used to, besides, he didn’t have much of an appetite today considering the circumstances. He pushed his food around the plate as he and the minster spoke about the future.  
“Do you not have any other family you could go to?”  
“There was only me and my mother, if there was anyone else I wasn’t told of them.”  
The minister leant back in his chair. Father McGuire was a fair man. He had joined the priesthood at the age of sixteen after his elder brother had enlisted in the military, but after fourteen years of witnessing so many families torn apart by life’s tragedies, he found his faith waning. Indeed Jesus had said ‘Suffer the children to come unto me’... but he’d seen too much suffering. So Father McGuire had made a choice to help those less fortunate in any way he could. He’d realised that the power of prayer would only go so far, the goodness of God presented itself in men like himself, and it was up to him to use this goodness to help all those who sought it.  
“What about friends?”  
“Well, I do have _one_ friend, but...”  
“But? Could his family not take you in, some folk are very considerate like that,”  
Ryan looked up from his plate, “It’s not a ‘him’, it’s a ‘her’,” Father McGuire was intrigued, especially by the defensive look in the young boy’s eyes at this statement, “But, I couldn’t go there... her family’s posh, they live in a big house... they’d look down their noses at me,”  
“So, you have a well-to-do young lady friend, do you?” Ryan blushed and nodded, “Might I ask her name?”  
“Charlotte,” Father McGuire looked at him, obviously wishing to know more, “Charlotte...? Hargreaves, I think?”  
“Hargreaves?” he knew the name, and was more than a little familiar with James Hargreaves. Father McGuire had in fact conducted the funeral of Emily, his wife... he also remembered Charlotte, although she was just a babe in arms all those years ago, he’d Christened her the same day he’d buried her mother, “Well, well. What a lucky young man you are to consort with such high society.” He was aware however that Mr Hargreaves was a stickler for tradition and the idea of his daughter having relations -however innocent they may be- with a street urchin was unheard of.  
This situation intrigued him, there was something about the way the boy’s eyes had lit up saying her name, there was determination there, passion one might’ve said... But if it wasn’t harnessed now, Father McGuire knew it would eventually be his downfall like so many before him.  
“My son,” he began, sitting back in his chair and making a steeple with his fingers, “I think I know somewhere you can go that’s not an orphanage or a workhouse”

“Yes, he looks alright. A bit pale in the face for my liking but good enough I suppose.”  
“And this way, you don’t even have to pay for him,”  
Father McGuire had brought Ryan to the local blacksmith, Jeremy Anderson. He’d been looking for an apprentice for some time but had not had the finances to buy a child from the orphanage or workhouse. Seven guineas for a boy was an outrage in his opinion.  
“So boy, let’s see what you can do.” Jeremy wiped his brow which did little to remove the grime on his face, he pointed to a very large looking hammer, “Can you lift that?”  
It was half the size of Ryan and probably weighed as much as him, Ryan certainly had enthusiasm, but he was not a fool, “I could probably move it, but I’ll damn well kill myself if I try to lift it,”  
Jeremy had not expected that answer, but it amused him to hear the words come from the lad, it was good to hear honesty for once, he’d seen one boy older than Ryan try lifting it and had caused himself quite a horrific injury in an attempt to prove his strength.  
“He’s a smart one, Father isn’t he?”  
Father McGuire placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “Indeed he is.”  
“Alright Father, you have a deal. I will take the boy. C’mon then lad, let me show you what you’ll be doing till you can manage to lift that hammer.”  
Ryan was pleased at this development in his life. At his age it was expected that he should work, in fact it was strange that he wasn’t already. It was the thought of Charlotte that pleased him though, knowing that he was now a little bit further up the social ladder, closer to her.

“How’s work?” Charlotte asked as they were sitting together in the park. It was spring and a nice day to enjoy the daffodils. She was aware of the tragic events of the past weeks, but Ryan seemed settled to her and didn’t want to talk about it much so she didn’t push him.  
“It’s good, how’s school?”  
“It’s not the same knowing I’m not going to see you at the gates. I miss you.”  
“I know, I just wish we could spend all day together. Then I could teach you more swear words.”  
“I’d like that,” she giggled in that playful way and blushed.  
“Lottie? What are you doing?” A voice called, it boy’s voice, one that had obviously only just broken in the months past for it rose and fell in tone drastically. They looked over to where the call had come from.  
A teenager, perhaps sixteen years old with slicked back dark hair came over with a group of other young men who wore the same established school uniform.  
“What the Hell?” Ryan asked.  
“Oh God, not him...” Ryan looked at her, “That’s my cousin, Gerald.”  
“What are you doing?” The young man called again.  
Ryan got up, and reached his hand to Charlotte to lift her to her feet which she took without even thinking. The teenager was almost upon them, “Get your filthy hands off her!” he shouted.  
Gerald did not throw the punch, but one of his boys did. He smacked Ryan with a sickening thud on his nose. Ryan fell to the ground clutching his face tightly as blood began to pour between his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes from the impact rather than the pain.  
“No, leave him alone!” Charlotte screamed, she placed herself between Ryan and the gang who came ever closer, extending her arms to make a barrier.  
Gerald stepped forward, “What do you think you’re doing?”  
“What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing? You can’t just hit people for no reason,” she turned, “Ryan are you alright?”  
“… No…” he winced.  
“Wait!” Gerald interjected, “You know this dust mite?”  
“That’s a horrible thing to say, his name’s Ryan and yes I know him, he’s my best friend.”  
Everyone gasped; it shocked Charlotte for she didn’t see what the issue was. Ryan pushed himself to his feet and held his heavily bleeding nose.  
“Well, what are you doing liaising with muck like that? It’s disgusting.” Gerald pointed rudely in Ryan’s direction.  
He suddenly forgot about his nose and stared the older boy down.  
“You slimy ponce!” Ryan yelled, and nearly threw himself at Gerald, heedless of the danger he would be putting himself in being so outnumbered. Charlotte stopped him before he could act though.  
The other four boys gathered closer, ready to jump the boy when they had the opportunity.  
Charlotte spun round again, his time holding Ryan’s hand, “Oh just fuck off all of you!” She screamed.  
Everything went silent, the sparrows in the trees flew from their branches in shock at the little girl’s tone. Several people who were innocently minding their own business stopped and stared. Even Ryan couldn’t believe what she’d just said but was mightily impressed with the range she had thrown the insult.  
Charlotte’s eyes were like fire and they burned into her cousin, “Just stay away from us, Gerald.” She stared at him with a force that made him step back; she placed her arm over Ryan’s shoulders and led him away.  
It took a while for Ryan’s nose to stop bleeding but luckily Charlotte always carried a handkerchief with her, a shame that it was an expensive one with her initials stitched into it, it would be ruined now but she was adamant that Ryan held something to his nose.  
“That obnoxious thing was your cousin?” he asked, “What bad luck to have someone like that in your family,” he laughed; at least he no longer had such worries in his life.  
“He’s a swine. He’ll be the death of me one day I’m sure of it. How’s your nose?”  
“I think it’s stopped bleeding. It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.”  
“Good. Look, I’m sorry but I’ve got to get home... If Gerald stays true to form he’ll head to Daddy and tell him what happened.”  
“You won’t get into trouble will you?”  
Charlotte shrugged; she might get into trouble for swearing but in truth Gerald had been to blame for threatening her and her friend, even having him beaten up, so surely he should be in more trouble.

When she got home, her father was indeed waiting for her as was Gerald.  
“I hear you’ve been in spot of bother, my dear.” Her father said sternly, sitting on the chair in his study behind his desk with Gerald standing by his side.  
“I didn’t mean to swear, Daddy, but Gerald’s friend hit Ryan first. I just wanted them to go away and leave us alone,” Her words were rushed as she tried to explain the situation without being interrupted by either of them.  
Mr Hargreaves’ expression did not change, “That’s not what I meant,” his moustache quivered, Charlotte gulped, what else could be wrong, she was sure she hadn’t done anything else, “It would seem you’ve been associating yourself with someone… below you,” The look on Charlotte’s face revealed her ignorance in the matter, “This… Ryan, you’ve been seeing, he’s not from your school is he?”  
“I never said he was, Daddy.” He had to accept that, he’d never even thought to ask her about it.  
“Gerald here tells me he’s one of the lower class,”  
“A filthy little creature, uncle, and he laid his hands on her.”  
“Excuse me, but I don’t understand the problem,” she said at last, “I have a friend, a very good friend who just happens to live the poorer district, he’s a nice boy…”  
“But what are his intentions?” Gerald spat. Charlotte looked confused and gave her father a quizzical glance.  
“Enough Gerald, she’s only eleven,” The last thing Mr Hargreaves wanted was for his little girl to get ideas of that sort. He stood up and reached for his cane, he strode round the desk and looked down at his daughter; he was an intimidating man at the best of times, “Lottie, you know very well what plans I have for you in the future don’t you?”  
She bit her lip and gave Gerald an uncomfortable look, “Yes, Daddy.”  
“And you wouldn’t do anything to upset those plans would you; I am after all looking out for you and your wellbeing.”  
“No, Daddy.”  
“That’s right,” he nodded at Gerald. It was a hard decision but the older man had witnessed this sort of thing before, albeit the pair in question were older but restraint by the parents had not helped the situation and had only made it worse, “Now, I’m not going to tell you that you can’t see this young boy, especially as he’s such a good friend as you say, it’s good that you have friends and charitable of you to befriend the less fortunate,” In the background Gerald’s face dropped, “But you should keep in mind what’s going to happen, don’t let yourself get carried away with this young boy. After all, hooker’s spawn aren’t meant to be trusted.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
With that the conversation was ended and Charlotte left the study and went to her bedroom. Today had been an eye-opening experience to say the least, she’d never realised the class system was divided to such an extreme, that it was such a bad thing that she saw Ryan as a friend. She could only feel relief in the knowledge that Daddy had not stopped her from seeing him entirely, not that she would’ve obeyed him, Ryan was too much fun to be away from.


	3. Lips and Skin, Like Sin...

1905

Ryan lifted the hammer and brought it down with power and precision on the red hot iron he held in the tongs. The impact created sparks that glistened off the sweat on his body. His hair hung haphazardly in front of his face but he knew what he was doing now. He was bare-chested for it was too hot to work with his shirt on. He had developed into a handsome young man with well toned muscle to show for his work although some would’ve said he was still a bit on the skinny side.  
He repeated the manoeuvre several times, the shape of the horse shoe he was making finally becoming obvious. Another well aimed strike finished the job. Ryan inspected his work, keeping the tongs well away from his face. Not bad if he were to say so himself, he smiled in satisfaction before placing the metal into a barrel of water to cool it.  
His arms ached and so did his shoulders but that would pass eventually, and they certainly didn’t hurt as much as they had done a year ago when he'd first started the real labour. He turned, wiped his brow with his arm and beheld a pleasant surprise to which he smiled in delight.  
Charlotte was sixteen years old now and becoming quite an attractive young lady. Today she wore a blue outfit consisting of a blouse, a jacket and a long skirt. She carried a parasol in her left hand and her hair was styled in ringlets today. A pleasant toothy smile was on her face as she’d been watching him for some time without him realising.  
“I did wonder why there were so many eligible young ladies around here but now I see why. I could watch you doing that all day,”  
“Ah, but if you were to do that then I’d never get any work done, would I? Besides, I only see one eligible young lady...” He took a quick look around at the people who walked past, yes there were women out today, street workers and those of a better class, some looked at him but he simply returned their giggling smiles and winks with an icy stare, “All the others are whores.”  
She gasped and smacked his arm playfully, “You shouldn’t say such things.”  
He had good reason for such an outburst; he’d seen as he’d aged and matured a different side to women... Those few occasions when he could meet Charlotte from school, those same girls who had taunted him, mocked him and laughed at him when he was ten, now began a different ritualistic behaviour. They had flirted, giggled admiringly, had waved their hands falsely in front of their faces to ‘stop’ themselves from becoming flushed.  
These same girls... oh how they sickened him. The very thought of becoming enticed by such gorgon like sirens was repulsive... Yes, they were very much whores and deserved to be called such.  
“How were the exams?” he asked, referring to her schooling. She would soon finish secondary school and then she would attend finishing school as they called it for two years, where a young girl would learn to become a true ‘lady’. Luckily she would be able to stay in the same London district and even remain at her house with her father.  
“Average. I don’t think I did very well in maths though.”  
He leant on the door frame as he listened to her and pushed the hair from his eyes, “Does that matter to you?”  
She laughed, “Not particularly.” He laughed with her, “Enough chat, get yourself ready and we’ll go for a walk.”  
Ryan grabbed his shirt and told Jeremy that he would be back later. Jeremy looked at the doorway seeing a young lady in blue, “Tell you what, son, take the rest of the day off. I can manage things here.”

They walked for a long time chatting about nothing in particular but enjoying it nonetheless. It was good to get out during the day, although the occasional disapproving stare passed their way. Were they offended by the difference in class, or was it simply that they were unmarried? It used to make Ryan feel uneasy knowing that others would be thinking this, but Charlotte had kept insisting that it didn’t matter, she only laughed at the absurdity of the situation.  
“You said it yourself; I’m posh, therefore I can associate with whomever I chose whether they’re willing or not and it’s called socialising… But if you chose to associate yourself with me even with my consent then it’s called rape,”  
Every now and then, Charlotte slipped her arm through Ryan’s to see what the reactions from passersby would be. Several people actually stopped dead in their tracks to take in the spectacle.  
They both laughed as they walked on.  
In a narrow alleyway they stopped and stood against the wall next to each other in silence. Ryan made himself a cigarette.  
“May I?” Charlotte asked as he lit it.  
“Be my guest,” this would be interesting. Charlotte held the cigarette between her thin fingers, placed it to her lips and inhaled. She coughed violently and Ryan laughed as she struggled for breath.  
“Oh God, that’s horrible,” she managed to say, he was about to take it back from her when she snatched her hand away, “No! I’m not finished yet. I’m trying again.” Ryan shook his head in humoured dismay, this time she managed to not cough but the look on her face was still priceless, “It’s not bad.”  
“You’re a bad liar,” he said as she handed the cigarette to him.  
Charlotte edged closer, looking up to admire him, these days the mere sight of him gave her the sensation of butterflies in her stomach. His features were striking, and with those grey, blue eyes and slightly messy dark hair he was quite pleasant to look upon, it was hardly surprising that he was often followed by young ladies, although he seemed to loathe the attention. Charlotte placed her head on his shoulder and was about to say something when a clatter of noise came from further down the alley.  
A figure came towards them, or rather stumbled towards them, supporting themselves on the wall, they’d knocked over a random flower pot on a window sill.  
“Oh, I shee,” that annoyingly recognisable voice said, “I should’ve known you’d be here, with him!”  
“Gerald?”  
“Oh shit…” Ryan sighed. He’d grown rather sick of this kind of thing happening over and over again; in fact this had been the third time this week her poxy cousin had shown up.  
“What on Earth are you doing...? Are you following me again?”  
“Shomeone’sh got to look out for you. You never know when the nexsht shcumbag will show up,” he pointed in Ryan’s direction, “Oh look, there’sh one now!”  
Ryan chose to ignore the insult, Charlotte however had gotten close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, “Oh God Gerald have you been drinking? For God’s sake, it’s two in the bloody afternoon.”  
Gerald ignored his cousin and simply looked at Ryan, “Anymore choice phrashesh you’d like to impart to my dear coushin?” Ryan stayed silent, not even looking in his direction, “What’sh wrong? Cat got your tongue?”  
He exhaled smoke through pursed lips in a sigh, “No, Gerald. I just have nothing to say to you.”  
“Go home, Gerald,” Charlotte insisted, “You’re embarrassing me in front of my friend and making a fool of yourself.”  
“I’ll go,” Gerald grabbed Charlotte’s wrist, “Only if you come with me, Lottie.”  
“Gerald! Let go, you’re hurting me!” He tugged harder, grabbing her other wrist now and pulling her back, “Let me go!” They struggled back and forth for a while, Gerald leered at her and wrenched her more aggressively towards him until someone pulled him away by his shoulder and a fist impacted with his face, the bone cracked. Gerald hit the wall and slumped down the brickwork holding his nose which started to bleed profusely, he looked up and saw Ryan standing over him, his fist clenched, his eyes a burning blaze of fury.  
“Don’t you _ever_ lay your hands on her again!”  
Charlotte had watched in awe as Ryan had come from behind and effectively saved her for want of a better word, “Ryan?” she asked unsteadily in a whisper, “Are you alright?” she came over to him and took hold of the hand he’d used, it was already red and the skin had come off his knuckles. Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave Gerald and Gerald looked like he’d just seen death come for him, the young man had never been so scared in his life.  
“He’s just hit me, Lottie and you ask if _he’s_ alright? I should have you arrested for assault, hooker’s spawn.”  
Ryan tensed up at the name, but Charlotte moved quickly in front of him, “You will do no such thing, not while I’m around. Just go home Gerald, sleep it off, walk it off, I really don’t care, just get the Hell out of my sight.”  
Gerald stumbled to his feet not daring to take his eyes off Ryan, “This isn’t over… You haven’t won yet.” And with that Gerald left, falling over a dustbin in the process but he left all the same.  
Charlotte looked at Ryan and saw the look in his eyes, a look she hadn’t seen for some time. It was how his eyes went when his mother had hit him, when he’d been taunted by the students at her school; she’d even seen him once give that look to a young woman of the street who’d tried to make a quick earning out of him. It was a look that scared her, inside he was still such an angry man but she’d never before seen him respond to his anger before now.  
She said his name again and he looked at her, the anger disappearing from him slowly, “I’m sorry,” he said at last, “I don’t know what happened, I… I just saw him handling you like that and how he… looked at you…”  
“It’s alright,” she soothed him as she took his hands, she had seen how Gerald had looked at her too and it made her feel dirty, “You did nothing wrong,”  
“Fucking bastard, touching you like that,” he leant his head to hers and their foreheads met, “I won’t have anyone treat you like that, Charlotte, you’re too good to be treated like that.” He was shaking as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, she accepted his embrace willingly and returned it, comforted by the beating of his heart against her bosom. She continued to reassure him with whispers although it was just as much for her own comfort.  
It took all of Ryan’s courage, but he kissed her neck gently, “I love you…” he whispered.  
Charlotte smiled against his chest as she heard those words, but was still too naive to understand their significance, “I know you do.” She responded.  
In that moment, those four words shattered Ryan’s soul. He hadn’t known what to expect after he’d confessed such a secret to her, if truth be told he’d wanted to say this at another time, in another place, to tell her how warm she made him feel inside, for it to be romantic experience, but his emotions were running away with him, too intense to control… _I know you do_ , the words echoed in his mind and they burned like fire. He pushed her away, turning his head from her, “I have to go…”  
“No you don’t,” she said as he started walking away. He couldn’t look at her. She called after him a few times but her words were not reaching him inside his thoughts. He walked without purpose, out of her sight, away from her blue eyes which bore into him.  
Charlotte didn’t know what her words had sparked within him; she could only assume his behaviour to be result of the incident with Gerald. She wanted to run after him, but she knew him too well, if he needed time alone then that was his choice, everyone needed time alone sometimes but she hoped he wouldn’t do anything silly.

Ryan didn’t know where he was going, or particularly care for that matter. It didn’t bother him that he suddenly found himself within the Whitechapel district with its known slander and debauchery.  
It had gotten dark rather quickly and the night predators began to emerge, both male and female. The street workers kept to the shadows mostly, but the sounds they made were easily heard, mostly cat calls although the sound of aggressive moaning could be heard from some of the darker alleys.  
Ryan passed a few of the women who proceeded to try their best at attracting the attention of a potential customer.  
“See anything you like, gorgeous?”  
“Looking for a good time?”  
Some waved their fans suggestively across their faces; others licked their lips as he walked by and blew kisses at him.  
He tried to ignore all of them, these were the same methods his mother had used and the idea of being near anything that resembled her was nauseating.  
He stumbled upon a small inn and went inside, out of the cold and away from the ravenous eyes of the whores. Quickly going up the bar he ordered a shot of gin as he took a seat; he was not inclined to drowning his sorrows usually but this was not a usual situation.  
He fingered the glass for a while, turning it this way and that as he contemplated the future, perhaps he’d overreacted, perhaps she wasn’t simply rejecting him as he’d thought, she was only sixteen years old after all and had had a rather sheltered upbringing compared to his own.  
He hardly noticed someone sit next to him. He wasn’t startled as this person took his hand, lifted it and raised it towards her ruby red lips, she smiled at him, “Cheer up, dear, it might never happen,” she began kissing his fingers delicately.  
This was new, whores didn’t usually act with such grace, maybe she was new to the profession or even a high priced whore; she certainly had the good looks to charge more for her services. She was definitely a whore though, no woman of any other standing approached a man in such a manner, and few would even speak with a man they’d never been introduced to.  
“What if it already has?” he asked her sarcastically.  
“Hmmm...” she whispered, “Then I know a way to make it all better,” she opened her mouth and took his finger in her mouth and began sucking.  
Ryan gasped at the sensation of her tongue rolling against his skin, he tried to resist, “I don’t need your services,”  
“Why’s that then, do you have a girl? Because that doesn’t bother me,”  
She was not like the others, she was indeed sexy and was willing at a time when he felt he needed attention, but no, he was better than that. He took his hand back from her quickly. “No, I don’t need that kind of attention.”  
She smiled a sultry smile and rose from her seat, her eyes shifting down his body to catch a glimpse of how ‘uninterested’ he was in her, “Very well, I’ll be outside if you change your mind though.”  
He watched her leave; her hips swayed an obvious invite to him. He tapped the glass again, downed it in one go and then got up and followed her.

The alley way was dark and damp but it would do. She smelt of lavender and her kisses tasted so sweet, her tongue a coiling serpent ready to strike venom. His first kiss. It was overbearing and domineering, all too soon over as she kissed him again but rougher this time, and again, her self-confidence in her own skill evident as her tongue pushed into his mouth to meet his own. The sensations of his lips and tongue against hers spread through his whole body, unbridled passion scorched his veins and went deeper still to his gut and further. The whore pushed him to the wall and ground herself against him as she kissed his lips, his neck, unbuttoned his shirt and licked his collarbone with that delicious tongue of hers.  
He hadn’t expected his first time with a woman to be like this. He’d thought about it, often... what young man didn’t? But this, this was intense and exciting; he had an experienced woman to show him the way. She took complete control, rubbed the muscles of his chest and stomach, her fingers caressed each curve as they went lower, with expert precision she began to unbuckle his belt single handed.  
For the first time he felt a woman’s breasts in his hands and he forgot all about everything and everyone else, for touching her was taking the pain away, having her touch him burnt like ice, it was exhilarating. She was forceful; she knew exactly what she was doing, a master of teasing and trickery. He couldn’t believe what she was doing as she descended to her knees and took him in her mouth, oh that tongue of hers... His legs buckled and he slid down the wall, breathing heavily and his eyes tightly closed, all the while she kept sucking, licking, using her smooth hands against him as well as her mouth until... she released him, lifting her layers of skirts to sit astride him. He gasped as he felt her slide over and around him.  
She stopped, teasing him yet again. He grabbed her hips and tried to drag her down but she didn’t move, instead she began laughing, “This is you first time isn’t it?” Ryan couldn’t answer her; it would be too much effort, “That’s alright,” She said as she slowly moved her hips down and then up again which made him throw his head back and gasp aloud... she was warm, oh so warm... tight and moist, just like her mouth had been around him, “Your little girlfriend wouldn’t have been this good.”  
Ryan stopped and opened his eyes, staring at the whore he realised what he was doing, he was replacing her, replacing Charlotte with a whore, a whore just like his slut mother. _Oh God, no!_ He thought. It was too late to stop, the moment was inevitable. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not like this… It was meant to be different, it was meant to be… with her… _Fucking slut! How dare you compare yourself to her. She’s mine! And you... are not her!!_ For the second time that day, Ryan’s eyes blazed in a fury he could not control...


	4. As You Sit There All Alone

It was late in the evening, Charlotte’s father had already gone to bed completely exhausted after a long evening at his ‘gentleman’s club’. Charlotte laughed thinking about how tiring it must be sitting in those large chairs drinking brandy and smoking cigars as the old chaps ‘put the world to rights’. Her hair was brushed and her nightie was on, she crawled into her large bed and began reading the very large volume of complete Shakespeare, tonight’s play was appropriately A Midsummer Nights Dream, one of her favourites, but something distracted her attention on the first page.  
A tapping sound, very light, against her bedroom window. _What on Earth?_ She got up and opened the bedroom windows wide and stared out into the darkness outside.  
“Charlotte…” someone whispered.  
She looked down and could only just make him out, “Ryan? What are you doing here, it’s so late,”  
“I’m so sorry…” he mumbled, it sounded as if he’d been crying, “I need to see you, please?”  
She quickly latched the windows open and beckoned for him to climb the trellis that ascended right up to her window but warned him to be as quiet as possible.  
It did not take him long, he appeared frantic and she could hear him panting way before he reached her. His hands grasped the window sill and he dragged himself inside and fell to her carpeted floor.  
She could’ve screamed but stopped herself; his white shirt, his hands and areas around his face were covered in blood.  
“Oh God, Ryan!”  
He put his hands up to stop her coming to him, “Don’t worry… It’s not my blood,”  
The look on her face quickly changed from concern to shock, “Not yours?... But whose…?” she stopped as she saw the look in his eyes, tears streamed down his face.  
“I’m so… sorry…” he managed through the sobs, “I couldn’t… think of anyone else to c-come to…”  
She knelt on the ground and took his head softly in her hands and moved the hair from his face, he looked so scared, so remorseful, so desperate, how could she possibly let him down now?  
She lifted him to his feet and told him not to touch anything as she began to unbutton his shirt and start sliding it off him. Her delicate fingers moved gracefully as she tried to avoid the blood as best she could. She tried concentrating on the task at hand, getting his shirt off him without staining anything around them but she was fascinated by him, she had not been able to admire his physique this closely before, his body was so well toned from his labours. He was indeed becoming a fine specimen of a man and had the situation not been so deathly serious, Charlotte was sure she would’ve been blushing. Instead, she gulped and rose her eyes to his blood stained face, he on the other hand, did all he could to avoid her eyes.  
When his shirt was off she wrapped it in her face towel and poured water from the jug on her vanity table into the waiting bowl. She took him by his trembling hand, sat him on the stool and gently began cleaning the blood from him with her flannel.  
Ryan watched her in wonder as she did this and couldn’t have been more grateful for her silence; the screams from earlier still rang in his ears. Their eyes met fleetingly several times as she gently brushed the flannel against his cheeks but no words were uttered. She would simply take care of him, and he would let her as he always had done.  
Later they sat by the open window breathing in the night air. Ryan was calmer now but still very much shaken. He tried to make himself a cigarette but his fingers trembled so much that it was impossible, Charlotte took his hands.  
“Let me do it,” she whispered making sure her voice was gentle as she took the materials from his fingers. She’d never made one herself but she’d seen him do it enough times to know the technique. Ryan gasped slightly as he watched her lick the paper to seal it but Charlotte didn’t seem to notice. She even had the courtesy to light it for him, realising that allowing him the use of matches right now was not a good idea.  
“When did you learn to do that?” he asked.  
She smiled at him, “If I didn’t know by now just from watching you then I’d be a very poor friend,” he smiled back at her and took his cigarette.  
“Charlotte, I-” He didn’t have time to complete the sentence. Somewhere outside a nearby policeman sounded the alarm by blowing his whistle alerting others to come to the scene of a crime he’d discovered.  
Ryan quickly backed himself into the corner and covered his ears, “Oh God, oh God, oh God…” he repeated over and over again.  
_Oh Goodness,_ Charlotte thought as she closed the windows to block the noise out, _What in Heaven has he done?_ “Ryan…” she reached for him and took him in her arms and began rocking him back and forth.  
“Charlotte,” he sobbed, “I’ve done something terrible…”  
“It’s alright dear,” she soothed him and stoked his ebony hair.  
“It’s not though… Oh God what have I done?”  
“I don’t care what you’ve done,” she whispered softly, he lifted his head to look at her, “It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters to me is you,”  
“But… I…”  
“No, dearest, don’t tell me,” she kissed his forehead, “You’re going to stay here tonight so I can look after you.”  
“I can’t…”  
“Yes you can. I’m not letting you out there, not tonight. You’ll be safe here, with me,” she looked him in the eyes and moved his hair again, “Just promise me, whatever you did, promise me you won’t ever do it again.”  
Ryan moved his hand over hers and brought her wrist to his mouth and kissed it, “I promise, sweetheart...” An idea came to Charlotte then and she went to move away but Ryan held her arm, “Where are you going?” he asked with genuine concern.  
“Just here. I have something for you.” He let her go reluctantly and she walked to her bedside table, “I was going to save this for your nineteenth, but now seems like a better time,” she passed him a small box which he accepted gingerly while looking at her, she knelt in front of him, “Well, go on.”  
Ryan opened the box, “Is that what I think it is?”  
“Yes.”  
It was a cigarette case, engraved with Ryan’s initials, the whole case made entirely out of silver, “Charlotte, I can’t accept this, it’s too much.”  
“No Ryan, I’ll decide when something is too much. It makes me happy to give you these things,”  
He tightly embraced her waist, his head leaning just below her breast line while she stroked his hair, then she took his hand and led him over to her bed.  
They laid there for a long time in silence, holding hands and cuddling one another. There was a lot of commotion outside but neither of them cared.  
Ryan replayed the awful scenario in his mind as he stroked the bare skin on Charlotte’s arm. He wouldn’t have blamed her at all if she’d shunned him, if she’d screamed and run away at the sight of him dripping with blood; how she could bear to have him hold her like this was incomprehensible, what must she think of him? He hugged her tighter; whatever her reasons, whatever power it was that kept her here with him in this moment he was grateful for it. She was _too_ good, _too_ precious…  
Charlotte lay with her head on his bare chest, wondering about the moments just passed. What had he done, where had he gone and who with? She could just ask him but it seemed somehow irrelevant now they were here together, besides, he had come to her with nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to… No, she wouldn’t ask him, and she vowed to never ask him, as crazy as it sounded, she could not bring herself to ruin the perfect impressions she had of him, to her he was everything and not even the events of tonight would change that.  
The noise outside her window did not cease, Whitechapel was quite some distance from her home but on a quiet night sound travelled easily.  
The sun began to rise as Charlotte finally drifted into sleep, and when she was restful Ryan left. It was of good fortune that he had left a jacket the last time he’d climbed into her bedroom to see her and even better that she’d never remembered to return it to him.  
The streets were busy for the time of day; jitteriness filled the people who strolled there this morning. Surprising how quickly news travels in London, many people were discussing last night, and even some boys who sold paperboys were exclaiming of their exclusive editions; first reporter on the scene and the like… Ryan tried to ignore what he heard, the details seemed twisted to him from what he recalled.  
Big Ben chimed the sixth hour. He still had time before he’d need to head to work, time enough to cleanse himself… in spirit at least.

Inside, the church felt warm, a distinct difference to the coldness of its exterior. Ryan made his way past the pews, looking straight ahead to the carved image of Christ hanging upon the crucifix. It was a sombre image of the Saviour’s sacrifice, the figure hung lifelessly from his burden, lacerations adorning His face from the crown of thorns. He’d never been a particularly religious man, but here in the eyes of God he suddenly felt very small indeed. The confessional boxes were easily found and Ryan closed the door behind him. He sat, crossed himself and then placed his hands together in prayer, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned… This is my first confession.”  
A comfortingly familiar voice came from the other side of the netting dividing the two booths, and Ryan was glad to hear it, “The Lord hears you, my child.”  
“Last night, I lay with a woman for the first time in sin…” he gulped and licked his lips, “…But I’ve done something worse than that, Father… The tragic thing that happened last night, you must’ve heard about it already… I’m responsible… I confess to it.”  
The priest on the other side was quiet for a moment letting this knowledge sink in and also to give Ryan some time to breathe after admitting such a thing. Father McGuire sighed before he spoke, “Tell me Ryan; was it Charlotte?”

She quickly got herself dressed in a plain outfit, ran a brush through her dark hair making the ringlets drop to made the style wavy and grabbed a bag; she could just tell Daddy that she heading into the city to meet someone, she didn’t have to say who. She stuffed the bloodied shirt Ryan had worn last night, the flannel and the towel she’d used to clean him with in the bottom of her bag and placed one of her own shawls on top to cover the evidence. It annoyed her immensely that she had fallen asleep and worried her that he had left; she hoped he was okay wherever he was, but there was no time to fret, she had to move quickly if she were to keep it secret. She ran down the staircase which was decorated with portraits of deceased family members of bygone years and into the hall. Mr Hargreaves was in his study having his breakfast. A silver tray was placed on his desk with a boiled egg in its holder and slices of toast ready to be buttered. On the side was today’s newspaper but he hadn’t had a chance to read it yet, the morning mail was the priority as usual. She knocked on his door.  
“Good morning, Lottie,” he beamed at her, “Coming to have breakfast with your old dad are you?”  
She smirked at his good mood, “No thank you, Daddy. I’m not very hungry this morning. I thought I might go to Oxford Street, Alyssa said she would be there and we could go for lunch together.” Alyssa was an old friend from school but Charlotte rarely had much to do with her these days. Alyssa had had extreme objections to Ryan’s company.  
Charlotte spied the front of the newspaper; it was folded in the centre so the headline was obscured, the only letters she could make out were ‘WHIT’ and then below smaller text with the name Jack, the article went down from there but the writing was much too small for her to read from there.  
James was disappointed that she couldn’t stay but it was good that she was meeting old friends so he let her go without thinking twice.

By ten o’clock the streets were bustling. Charlotte manoeuvred her way through the crowds, clutching her bag tightly; a few people looked shaken and were talking to one another in hushed tones, the same phrases kept being repeated, ‘I heard’, ‘I reckon’, ‘Not safe to walk the streets’, ‘Should be hanged’.  
_Just stay focused,_ she told herself, _Don’t get distracted, don’t listen to it…_ She just had to get to the Thames, just get to the docks and it’ll be over.  
She rounded the corner and bumped into a boy carrying newspapers which he dropped, “’Ere, watch where you’re goin’ Miss, you’ll have me eye ou’” Charlotte gripped her bag to her chest tightly and her breathing became shallow and quick, “’Ere, Miss, you alrigh’? You ain’t half pale,” Her eyes scanned the scattered newspapers in disbelief, the headline repeated itself on the ground, ‘WHITECHAPEL MURDER’ ‘Has Jack the Ripper Returned?’  
_Oh God no, not Ryan, not my Ryan!_ This couldn’t be what he’d done, surely he hadn’t killed someone, not that little boy she’d played marbles with, not the young man she so admired now, _Not my Ryan!_ She got up, clutching the bag so tightly her knuckles went white. She walked on, oblivious to the noise now and the commotion; the words Jack the Ripper never left her mind, those murders were still in living memory but it had been fifteen years ago, a riot would surely ensue in the hunt for this man, especially if they suspected it to be the infamous serial killer. She made her way as quickly as she could to the docks.  
These boots were not made for such places so she braved the mud barefooted, holding her skirt above her knees to stop it getting messy. The look in her eyes was one of determination. All she could think of was Ryan, she had to help him, had to protect him, perhaps he hadn’t been responsible for the murder last night, perhaps it was just bad luck, in which case she wouldn’t let him be blamed for it, and if he _had_ … That was irrelevant. She had to help him.  
At last she saw what she’d been looking for, an old metal barrel down by the waterline, smoke still rose from it where the homeless had used it to keep warm in the night. Charlotte nearly slipped in the dark mud which was black in colour from the various oils and pollutants in the River Thames; it seeped between her toes and submerged her feet entirely at times. A sharp pain shot through her left foot and she cried out, not daring to look; no doubt it was a shard of glass carelessly discarded. Charlotte limped the rest of the way as best she could; when she reached the barrel she saw there was still a small flame inside. She lifted the bag to the edge, she hadn’t intended to burn everything but right now she really didn’t care, she pulled out her shawl and threw it in first in the hope that it would encourage the flame. It responded almost instantly, burning much stronger as it devoured the expensive fabric. When it reached an adequate heat, Charlotte dumped the whole bag inside the barrel and stood back to watch it burn.  
It was done. She rubbed her arms as a strange chill ran up her spine and slowly began to make her way back to street and her boots.  
_It’ll be alright now, everything will be alright..._ She sorted herself out quickly, removing the shard of glass in her foot with only a little difficulty, but it bled like nothing she’d ever seen before. She would just say she’d sprained her ankle if anyone asked why she was limping.

She hailed a carriage when she got back to the street and asked the driver to take her to a specific address. The two horses dragged the carriage through the streets and Charlotte relaxed for the first time that day.  
She reached the blacksmiths in good time and asked the driver to wait a moment for her. She found Ryan round the back, his hands shaking as he smoked. His eyes filled with shock when he saw her, he didn’t know what to do although he was happy she had come. She looked at him seriously, looking into his lovely eyes trying to find answers. He gazed at her, wondering why she’d come here at all, surely she could’ve guessed by now.  
Finally Charlotte started crying, Ryan came forward and embraced her tightly, and she gave him an equally tight hug and whispered, “Ryan... I disposed of the evidence... No one can link you with what’s happened now.”  
Ryan couldn’t believe what she said, and he nearly started crying himself. It was unbelievable that she would go to such lengths, “Thank you...” he whispered back and kissed her neck.  
That night would remain a secret between them.


End file.
